Obsession Knows No Boundaries
by Switchblades and Sunsets
Summary: Mary-Sues are the least of the Curtis gang's worries. At least we all know those aren't real. However, real-live screaming fans have existed since the dawn of time. Pony really shouldn't have stretched the truth with his little theme...
1. Magical Time Travelling Devices of Doom

**Oh, I'm probably no good at parodies. All I've ever written are angst-filled monologue-ish stories... So why am I even bothering with this? **

**Answer: Because I'm incredibly bored and have got a minor case of what experts like to call "Writer's Block". Is it contagious? I think so. *grins evilly* **

**Take from that what you will. ;)**

**Disclaimer: Yes, of **_**course**_** I own The Outsiders! That's why I'm writing on a site named "fanfiction . net"! *That was sarcasm, guys. Please don't sue me for it.***

"What do you think it is?"

"I dare you to poke it, Soda."

"Poke it yourself, Two-Bit!"

"You're no fun."

"No, I just happen to like all ten of my fingers, thank you very much."

Darry sighed in exasperation. Personally, he didn't care what all this junk was that kept on magically landing in his living room, he just wanted it _gone_.

Life in the Curtis house had been absolutely hectic the last couple of days, and the oldest Curtis is sick. Of. It.

"Can't you guys just leave the thing alone?" He asked irritably, putting aside his newspaper. Because of Pony's damn English "paper", he, Darry, had been practically _forced_ by all the crazed fans to fulfill his "expected" role as the world's first just-out-of-his-teens-40-year-old-dad.

The truth was, that paper hadn't been one of those "report-the-facts-exactly-as-it-is-or-_else_!" assignments ... To be fair, it wasn't Pony's fault that he had taken some artistic licence with it.

Because the personalities of the gang were just _not_ that over-the-top. Yes, Darry could be serious sometimes, Soda could be happy-go-lucky, Steve could be a tad on the mean side, Two-Bit could be funny, Johnny could be nervous, and Dally could be--- Wait, scratch that. Dally was the _only_ person whose personality Ponyboy didn't exaggerate.

But the point was, Pony's English teacher had went positively bonkers over the 180-page, er ... essay, gushing on and on about how good it would look in print.

They had all gotten a good laugh out of that one, but that was _before_ Pony told them the teacher was dead serious.

_"So ... just to clarify ... You wrote 180 PAGES of your theme on stuff that didn't even happen?"_

_"Uhhh... Yeah..." Pony had admitted sheepishly, "I went a little overboard."_

_"_That's _sure puttin' it lightly." Darry had muttered, but agreed with the publishing. God knew they needed a bit of extra money, so why give up on this excellent chance, however unusual?_

That conversation had happened about a week ago. _Before_ the book had started selling copies faster than they could count 'em. _Before_ stuff they'd never seen in their lives had started popping up all over the house.

Today it was a pink, rectangular-shaped object that was slightly rounded off and looked like it could open. It had been ringing on and off for the last hour it had been there, and was giving everyone except Two-Bit, Soda, and Pony an intense headache.

"Glory, just find a way to shut it up, will ya? My head's gonna explode if I have to listen to that racket for one more minute ..."

How well Darry could sympathize with Steve at the moment ... It was either screaming fangirls jumping around outside, trying to get a peek inside while threatening to break the poor house's very foundations, or it was the random ringing/beeping/honking/tooting/flashing of another alien technology from the future.

You'd think Soda and Two-Bit would get sick all the "fun" after a while. You'd think Ponyboy would so much as complain about it like a normal human being for once. He was spending more and more time cooped up in what we expected to be his own little world, where everything was big and dramatic and really, really exciting.

Darry wanted very badly to bang his head against the wall. At least that would redirect the _pain_ of it all.

Everyone suddenly jumped as a shrill, disembodied voice started coming out of the pink thingy in Soda's hand at the moment. He'd successfully opened it, whatever it was, and they were being rewarded with _this_.

_"Ohmigoshh! You figured it out, yay!" _

There was a piercing squeal sounding suspiciously like tires skidding to a sudden stop. Darry felt like he may just need hearing aids after this.

_"Anyways, hi, I'm Yvonne Curtis. My mom FINALLY let me use my time-traveling-cell-phone-recorder to send you guys a message, and I'm so so so so glad you found out how to use it! Well, actually, my last name isn't REALLY Curtis, but I absolutely LOVE your amazing book The Outsiders, and I wish I was part of the Curtises, so I'm going to change my name one of these days! *Long, dreamy sigh* So, I'm like, TOTALLY in love with every single member of the gang, and I dream about you guys every single night and-----"_

There was more, but Soda had snapped the thing shut, his face reflecting the expression of horror and disgust all seven of them had on. Yes, even Ponyboy stuck his head into the room in utter disbelief.

"What was ... _that_?" He asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I'm not planning to open it again to try to figure it out," Soda said, serious for once. "Cover for us, Pony. Me and Steve are off to the DX like good little mechanics. You know as well as I do what'll happen if we don't start acting like they want us to act again."

He paused, then looked at everyone sternly, "Darry, you'd better start reading that paper again if you know what's good for you. Two-Bit: Just keep cracking lame jokes. Johnny, your job is easy. Just sit there like the little lost puppy you are, and be all silent and stuff. Oh, and you and Dally are supposed to be dead, so act like it. Ponyboy, you've got a couple of options. Read, write, draw, daydream, or go watch the sunset."

"But it's _noon_!" Pony protested.

Soda thought for a while, then pulled an old calendar from the drawer.

"Here." He thrust the calendar at Pony impatiently, "Just stare at this thing."

Darry peered over curiously, and nearly choked on his coffee from laughing.

"I'll just go read," Pony mumbled, and retreated back into his and Soda's room with a book in his hand.

As soon as Soda finished telling everyone what to do, his signature grin was back on his face.

"Well, we'll see y'all later!"

Darry watched as Soda and Steve rushed around the room, dodging who-knows-what and giving everyone suspicious glances as if they were on some spy movie. After they finally "escaped" out the back door, Darry sighed again and went back to the paper that he'd memorised five times already. If only he'd been nicer to Ponyboy when he had written his book/essay/theme ...

The alarm clock rang, and Darry yelled mechanically, "Ponyboy, have you done your homework yet?"

He didn't wait for an answer. This was something he was completely used to already. The zombie fans had sent him this alarm clock, so he'd "know" the exact times when he should yell at Pony to do his homework like the stern dad they wanted him to be. 3 times a day, to be exact.

This was really the least of Darry's worries, though ... Because tomorrow was the monthly "Give Ponyboy a Horrible Accident/disease, Then Watch as the Rest of the Gang Cry and Spill Their Hearts in Front of His Hospital Bed Day".

**So, how was that? Remember: Entertainment purposes only, please do not flame unless you truly have a good reason to hate it. If so, flame all you want. **

**Review!**


	2. Dreaming of Freedom

**This chapter is being posted as part of "Good Fic Day," an effort to raise the quality of writing here. We hope to encourage more writers to improve the quality of their own fan fiction - spell check, grammar check, keep the gang in character, outline, plot and don't use Mary Sues. Good fan fiction requires effort, and we would like to encourage other writers to rise to the challenge of producing better fan fiction, not only for our readers, but for S.E. Hinton, who created the wonderful book we are trying to honour.**

**Yep, a parody for Good Fic Day. Bet you weren't expecting that, were you? ;)**

**Please note: I changed some things from the first chapter, so please reread it if you're a little confused by this one.**

**Warning: I'm actually criticizing **_**myself**_** with this chapter too, so please don't be offended. You've been warned.**

**Disclaimer: Do I own The Outsiders? Is the sky neon green? **

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Ponyboy sighed. Yesterday had been pure _torture_ ... he'd only had his imagination to keep him sane in that cursed hospital bed. Those who'd never had to spend an entire day pretending to sleep/be unconscious had no idea just how _boring_ it all was.

But the past was now, well, _past_. A new series of activities that made Pony want to laugh and cry at the same time were now upon him.

The rabid fans-mostly girls- had discovered a new form of torture, and its name was _fanfiction_.

Ponyboy bent over a pile of blank papers and envelopes, scribbling down one letter after another. Believe it or not, the letters were for the deceased _Johnny Cade_. Who was, by the way, was still healthy and perfectly alive.

The fangirls didn't know this though, so they expected Pony to write at least five letters full of sorrow, angst and hate at the world every single day, while they stared at him and documented his every move to publish as the ever-loathed _fanfiction_.

_Well_, he thought miserably, _at least I'm better off than Johnny and Dally. They can't even show their face outside anymore. Oh, why did I have to have the brilliant idea of killing off two of my best buddies? This is not worth any amount of A pluses. _

You see, that was the only reason why Pony exaggerated and created a whole epic adventure out of their used-to-be-dull lives. He wanted to get an A, so that Darry would be satisfied and would get off his back for even just a little while. He had only wanted a bit of a break from his constant nagging... now he'd messed up all their lives.

_**"Get back to writing!" **_a young, angry voice commanded.

Pony hastily scribbled something around the lines of, _"The whole world's against me, isn't it? Why is everything so unfair? Johnny and Dally were heroes... They didn't deserve to die. WHY THEM? WHY NOT ME?"_ That little bit of extra-intense angst seemed to calm the fangirls for the time being, which was a relief.

Ponyboy gritted his teeth, all the while still writing senseless babble. He hated being pushed around by these girls, most of which were even younger than he himself. He wanted _out_. Wasn't it bad enough that they'd made the whole gang start living a lie? Now they wouldn't even let any of them have a moment of peace.

Maybe Johnny and Dallas _did_ have the upper hand. Maybe it was better to be presumed dead...

"Oh, what am I thinking? This nonsense is going to my head," he mumbled, putting down the pencil. By now, he knew that once his brain started sprouting emo rhetorical questions, it was time to beg for a coffee break.

Not literally, of course. The fangirls only ever allowed Darry coffee. All Soda and Pony had to drink was chocolate milk. Even something as good as chocolate milk turned sour after drinking it nonstop day after day after day... To be honest, Ponyboy was sick of everything chocolate. He was sure Sodapop would say the same thing.

Pony wasn't going to stand for this much longer. He was the writer of the story... He was God of his partly-fictional universe. That meant Ponyboy could change their fate... through mere words.

He'd create a sequel to the book that started it all, and the crazy fans would read it and rethink their actions. They'd let them eat something besides eggs, chocolate cake, and chocolate milk. Even spinach sounded like heaven to Pony at this point.

And Johnny and Dally would be allowed to show go outside without having to sneak around. Pony would reincarnate them or something... the method didn't matter, only the outcome.

This was his grand scheme. This was what he worked on every day when he wasn't being ordered around by the mobs of obsessed fangirls with their fanfiction and their copies of the book.

Ponyboy knew that the whole gang thought he was starting to lose his mind, the way he kept mumbling ideas and then dashing to his room every two minutes to scribble something down... but they'd thank him in the end. He'd be a hero.

Imagination on overdrive, Ponyboy Curtis dreamed of freedom.

XXX

Meanwhile, at the DX, Soda was trying his very best to work with a constant smile on his face. Which, by the way, was not as handsome as a Greek god's would be. All the girls who were so incredibly devoted to Ponyboy's description of him in the book were blowing his reasonably handsome features _way_ out of proportion.

Soda had found himself looking in the mirror a lot more than he used to these days, trying to see what so many people saw in him. It was more than a little unnerving, constantly having to look up to see a whole bunch of people openly staring at him.

In some ways, he envied his younger brother. Ponyboy was the dreamer, the writer, the artist. All he had to do was produce his daily quota of drawings, essays, and deep thoughts, and the fans would be satisfied. They didn't stare at _him_ 24/7.

Really, they were brothers. They looked pretty similar. In some ways, Ponyboy was even more attractive than Sodapop. He had softer features, wide, innocent-looking eyes, a quiet, almost musical voice, and a constant dreamy expression that Soda wasn't even sure his brother was aware of. You wouldn't know that by watching Soda's many admirers... you'd think he was legions beyond the most beautiful god/movie star on Earth.

It had been flattering, once... but now it was just plain annoying. He was ashamed to admit that he'd wanted to strangle Pony more than once for writing his description like that in his book.

_Seriously? _Soda thought, still a little bewildered at how highly his brother thought of him. He still remembered reading a few of the many lines from the book which were seemingly designed to attract legions of Soda-fangirls...

_"Soda is handsomer than anyone I know. Not like Darry- Soda's movie-star kind of handsome, the kind people stop on the streets to watch go by. He's not as tall as Darry, and he's a little slimmer, but he has a finely drawn, sensitive face that somehow manages to be reckless and thoughtful at the same time. He's got dark-gold hair that he combs back- Long and silky and straight- and in the summer the sun bleaches it to a shining wheat-gold. His eyes are dark brown- lively, dancing, recklessly laughing eyes that can be gentle and sympathetic one moment and blazing with anger the next."_

The paragraph had always been, in Soda's opinion, a complete recipe for disaster. He would never have any idea how Ponyboy managed to come up with so much description about how he, Sodapop Curtis, _looked_.

_"I turned my head to look at him and in the moonlight he looked like some Greek god come to earth"_

"Now that's just overstretching it, Pony. Movie star, I can handle. Barely. But a Greek god? That's a tall order to fill," Soda mumbled to himself.

Curse Mr. Syme for teaching his students how to elaborately describe physical characteristics right before giving the theme assignment.

Soda sighed without relaxing his rigid smile. The day had barely started, and he was already feeling the soreness in his mouth.

He really wanted a break from it all. _What would be good right now,_ Soda thought wistfully_, is a good, solid vacation. For all of us. Preferably of the permanent variety. _

Soda wondered if the fangirls would be able to track them if they ran away in the middle of the night and took a plane to another country. But no, they had their special equipment from the future... The gang would never be able to step more than two paces outside the door before they'd be busted.

He groaned a little, his frozen grin slipping. Quickly, Sodapop hitched it back up before any of them noticed. This was going to be one long day...

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Sorry it's short. Please review. Again, this is a might-continue, might-not deal. (Most parodies are, I think.) Depends on YOUR response to it.


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